Lady Of The Night
by Asha Childly
Summary: I am nobody's concern. My name is none of your business. And this may be the very last time you ever hear from me. I am alive for one purpose and one alone: to help my master and keep his identity a secret. Written with all adaptations in mind.
1. Act One

**Yeah, so, um, okay! This is my first contribution to this section of fanfiction! I've really wanted to write this story for nearly a year, and now I've finally got my chance! This is kinda long, I know. Well, long for me, at least. Anyway, I should talk about the story a little bit.**

**THIS IS IMPORTANT! DO NOT SKIP!**

**This story has concepts from all adaptations of _The Phantom of the Opera_ (i.e. book, movie, and play), and that's why it was so hard for me to place. So if you've only seen one or two of these, than things might not quite be in order for you. Please just try to be accepting of this fact we can all continue with the story. Last but not least, the most important part:**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these concepts, except for Aye—I mean that one chick who's also in this book who is entirely my idea. The rest belongs to Leroux, Gaston and Lloyd Webber, Andrew (Love you, bro!) So, if you have a problem, you should take it up with them, since it was their idea in the first place! No, I'm joking. If you hate it, take it up with me ;)**

**I think I've written enough, so, ENJOY!**

**Act One**

I am nobody's concern. My name is none of your business. And this may be the very last time you ever hear from me. I am alive for one purpose and one alone: to help my master and keep his identity a secret. By telling you all that I have and will tell you, I have betrayed his trust and I will be punished. So please listen carefully as I can only give this information once.

I have lived here under L'Opera Populaire for four years. I was smarter, prettier, and far more useful and experienced than the other girl, Daaé, in more ways than one. Because of that, I was the perfect woman to spy on her and make sure he had her in his arms.

But before I get into any of that, I suppose I should start from the beginning.

I've been living in the L'Opera Populaire since my birth. I was born to a very young woman, who was only fifteen years old when she gave birth to me, not much older than I was when Miss Christine unknowingly became my enemy. I was raised mainly by the other dancers, but, strangely, I never quite had their talent. Certainly, I could dance, but I was merely mediocre. My mother was ashamed of my lack of skill. What I really wanted to do was sing. I wanted to be an opera star. That is why, in my later days, I began to look up to, and even worship, the lovely Lady Carlotta, who is, in my opinion, the greatest diva in all of France.

Of course, I was never to have my dream. I was forced to dance with all the other girls, and was expected to act as if I enjoyed it. Many of the actors and dancers thought I was when wonderful, despite the fact that I had no grace or finesse. They simply thought I had a certain comic way about everything I did. I suspect it was because of the multitude of times I lost my balance and fell flat on my backside.

The only place I felt free to be who I wanted was in the empty dressing room, which was, at the time, said to be haunted. I simply wanted to be Lady Carlotta. I wanted to _perform_. While she was on stage playing a role for her multitude of adoring fans, I would lock myself in and sing in front of the large mirror on the wall, pretending as though I had an audience like the one she had every night. When I had finished I would applaud myself and take a bow (never at the same time, that made you seem haughty). When I would hear footsteps, signifying the end of a show, I would hide.

This is how I met my master. I was ten years old at the time. I had been singing for my imaginary audience one day when I heard Lady Carlotta coming. I could tell by the sound of her magnificent voice that she was trying to escape her loving followers. I raced around the room, searching for a new place to hide. In my burst of adrenaline, I bumped into the mirror in front of which I stood each night. To my surprise, it shifted, revealing a gaping hole in the wall. I stepped through as quickly as I could and moved the mirror back into its initial position. It was only then that I found an opportunity to evaluate my surroundings.

The mirror I had stepped through was one way. Through it, I could see the door opening and Lady Carlotta stepping through, attempting to relieve herself of the many fans. I admired her a moment longer before turning around to see the rest of the room. I was standing in a small hallway made of the same stones in most of the stairwells at L'Opera Populaire. There were many unlit torches lining the walls on either side of me. I took slow, careful steps through the halls, listening carefully. To comfort myself, I began to hum the tune of one of the songs Lady Carlotta had just finished singing in her performance, _La Jolie Parfumeuse_, as I didn't know the words. I was stopped suddenly when another voice, the voice of a man, hummed back the next part. It felt as though he was beside me. I jumped and spun around in multiple circles, searching for the mysterious man.

"W-who's there?" I demanded, though my voice was shaking with fear.

"Do not fear me, my child," he said. His voice was hypnotic. I could not resist its melodious qualities, and I found myself moving toward it. It repeated the melody from where I'd left off. I felt compelled quite suddenly to join it. For a long moment, we sung together, our voices forming a lovely duet. However, I could not shake the fear deep down inside of me which continued to yell in my head to turn around. Despite all of my efforts, I continued moving forward toward that mesmerizing voice.

I was led down a short staircase and found myself standing in front of the river that flowed under the opera house, and instantly I knew where I was. My mother, and all the other dancers, had warned me never to go under the opera house, and yet, somehow, there I was, underneath the opera house, disobeying the only advice my mother had ever truly given me that didn't have something to do with the ballet. There was a man there. He was waiting for me.

"Hello, my child," he said. It was the owner of the voice. I examined his body and face, and took several quick steps back the way I'd come. His face was covered by a white mask which reminded me surprisingly of a skeleton. He was dressed in dress robes with a long, sweeping black cape that rested just a few inches beyond the floor. He was a very tall man, nearly double my height. That wasn't much an accomplishment as I was very short and frail for my age, just as my mother is and had been.

"Where am I?" I asked. "Who are you? Why did you bring me here?"

I saw the man's lips curve into a small smile. "So many questions," he said. He stepped aside and revealed a small boat, which reminded me of one I'd seen once in a Venetian show. A Gondola. He gestured to it, and I guessed he wanted me to get in. I eyed him carefully.

"Where will you take me?" I asked him, trying to keep my voice steady and firm. He smiled.

"You are a clever girl," he told me. I could feel my face heat up slightly, as it always did when someone offered me a compliment. Thankfully, I didn't get many. "We will go to my…domain. I'm certain you will enjoy it there."

I nodded and stepped cautiously toward the small boat. I sat inside and felt the man step in behind me. We floated along in silence for quite a while. Finally, I saw a large gate ahead of us. It opened up, almost as if by magic, and let us inside. I looked around the room. It was still the same stone, but every available surface was covered with candles. I stared, my mouth wide, at the flickering flames, which made the shadows on the walls dance ominously. There was a huge pipe organ in the middle of the room, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I longed more than anything to hear it, if only once, for it looked like it would create the most beautiful sound on Earth. The man obviously saw me staring and chuckled.

"Do you like her?" he asked. "She's a masterpiece, isn't she? A work of art. My most prized creation."

"I'll bet it — _she_ sings like a thousand angels," I said. I could hear the man's grin as he corrected me.

"Two thousand, at least," he said confidently. He brought the boat up to the stone floor, which reminded me very much of a stage. Sticking off was a low landing where I got off. He stepped off behind me and looked me over. "Do you play?" he asked. I shook my head vigorously.

"No, not at all," I said. "I can do nothing. Not even dance."

"You can sing," he said. Again, my cheeks burned.

"No," I said. "I'm not a singer. I'm a dancer."

"And yet you say you can't dance."

I fumbled around for a retort, but I could come up with nothing. He'd beaten me. Outsmarted me.

"Who are you?" I asked him. He sighed.

"You are persistent," he said. He paused a moment, as if pondering how to respond. "You may come to know my name one day. For now, you may call me what you wish. Many people who have heard of me, as I'm sure you have, know of me as the Opera Ghost."

I jumped in surprise, nearly knocking myself backward into the river. "Y-you are the Opera Ghost!" I managed to gasp. "I have heard many things about you! Terrible things!" Hot tears welled up in my eyes as I realized my fate. I was going to be killed here, under the opera house. Finally, I couldn't hold back my fear, I fell to my knees and began to sob.

"Please!" I begged. "Please don't kill me! I don't want to die! I'm sorry I came into your domain! I'm sorry I've bothered you!" I looked up at him with pleading eyes, tears staining my cheeks. "Just let me go. I promise I will tell no one of what I've seen!" My chest throbbed with my shallow, hungry breaths. My head was pounding. The man looked sad. As though I'd offended him by my distrust, which I later learned I had.

"Child, I have no intention of harming you," he said. "I have brought you here so that I could hear you sing."

I looked up at him, confusion clouding my thoughts. He reached out a hand and, reluctantly, I took it. He helped me back to my feet and rested a hand on my small back. "I apologize if I frightened you. I will not hurt you," he promised. I blinked away the last of my tears and nodded. I tucked my short, light brown hair behind my ears and managed a weak smile.

"For now," the Opera Ghost said, "I must leave you. Should you need me, I will be in my chambers."

He turned, his dark cape billowing behind him, and walked away. I stared after him. He entered a room across the area, and I did not get a chance to look inside before the door was shut again. That left me alone again. I wandered through the empty room. I began to sing to keep myself company.

"_Ah! Toi, belle hirondelle, qui vole ici_

_N'a tu pas vu dans les îles_

_Mon Alexis, qui est parti dans les voyages en ces longs jours?_

_It te dennera des nouvelles de son retour."_

Eventually, my words became softer and my notes long and laboured. Soon, I curled up on the floor and closed my eyes, letting my mind go completely blank.

Soon enough, the Phantom stepped out of his room to check on me. He saw me, lying unconscious on the cold stone, and walked over, picking me up. He cradled my tiny body in his strong arms and carried me into a small room off the main area and laid me down in a beautiful, elegant bed. He drew the curtains around it and left me.

Many days passed and I said nothing to the Phantom. In turn, he said nothing to me. I spent a lot of time in what I considered to be my room, though I had never been told that it was "My room". During that time, I listened to the Phantom playing his organ. I could tell from the way he would stop and start perpetually that he was composing. I still didn't understand what had happened to me, or what I would do now that it had. It took me nearly one completely violence-free week before I decided that I may be able to trust the Phantom. I rolled out of the bed and walked toward the door across the room, my bare feet slapping against the cold, hard floor.

When I stepped through the thick red curtain that covered the doorway, the very first thing I saw was the lake. Next was the thousands of candles, and last was the man sitting at the organ. I padded over to it, my feet still smacking on the ground, and sat on the floor next to the organ. The Phantom started, not having noticed me, and stopped playing. He looked down at me. I waved a hand.

"Hello," I said.

"Good morning."

He stayed like that, looking at me, a while longer, waiting for me to say something more. When I didn't, he returned to his playing. Finally, I spoke.

"You play very well," I told him. He didn't look at me as he replied.

"I have played for many years, Child," he said. I watched him. His fingers moved nimbly over the ivory keys. Something about the way he played was special. Over the ten years I'd lived in L'Opera Populaire, I had heard many pianists and organists, but none had sounded the same as the Phantom. Something about his playing compelled me to sing or dance, or respond somehow to the beautiful music. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be a musician.

"Will you teach me to play?"

He hesitated for a moment, contemplating my question. Finally, he said, "Maybe someday."

He continued with his playing, and I continued with my watching. Another question that had been bothering me since I'd ended up there, in the Phantom's home, pressed at my lips, begging to be asked.

"How long must I stay here?" I asked, my voice innocent, not questioning, but simply curious. This time, the Phantom stopped playing completely. He turned to me.

"You needn't stay forever," he said. "But I wish that you would."

I nodded. "Alright," I said. "Forever, then."

The Phantom seemed taken aback by my easy reply. I noticed his shock and shrugged. "I enjoy it here," I said. "Also, I know that you wouldn't hurt me. Not on purpose. That makes you less threatening than my own mother, so I have no issue with staying here forever." I stopped and thought for a moment, considering my response. "That is, provided, that I can come and go as I please. I still wish to attend rehearsals." I gave a coy smile. "I may have the chance to become a true singer someday."

The Phantom gave a curt nod and turned back to his music. Before he could start playing again, I added, "If I am to stay here forever, what shall I call you?"

"You may call me whatever you wish."

I considered all possible options for a moment, then came up with the perfect thing. "May I call you Raoul?"

The Phantom seemed puzzled. "Why Raoul?" he asked.

I smiled and prepared to tell the story. "My friend, Little Jammes, named the lamp between our beds back in the dancers' sleeping room Raoul."

The Phantom pursed his lips. "No. Absolutely not."

I pouted. I couldn't understand what he didn't like about the name. It was a good name. "Alright," I agreed finally. "I want to be as excellent in music as you one day, so suppose I call you Master?" The Phantom seemed surprised. I traced my finger along the ground, visualizing my dance routine and ignoring the Phantom.

"Yes," he said finally, causing me to snap my head up to look at him. "Yes, I would like that."

"Alright, then that is what I will call you."

Many more days past, and I spent them coming to and from rehearsals and watching the Phantom playing the organ. Finally, one day I was sitting next to the organ and watching the Phantom when He finished the song and looked down at me.

"Child," he said, sliding over on the bench. "Come up here."

I did as I was told. I usually did when the Phantom asked something of me. He touched my right hand with his and sat it on top of the keys. He spread out my fingers so that each one was on a white key. He explained that the key where my thumb was was middle C. He told me to push down my thumb, middle finger, and pinkie, and then explained that I'd played the tonic chord of C Major. That day, and several days following, he taught me how to play the piano, and, more importantly, how to read music. That moment, when I learned to read music, was approximately when my life really began to start, and from that point on, I knew that the Phantom would be nothing my good for me.

The days went by, almost without notice, and very little changed. For a long time, things were genuinely good for me. That was, until a certain young girl came along.

I was twelve. It was midway through August in 1883, and you could really feel it, even down in the tunnels. If it hadn't been for the lake, I don't know how I would have gotten by. On that day, it had finally cooled down a bit, and I'd taken the opportunity to practise on the organ. The Phantom had been working in his chambers on his latest masterpiece. I considered that and smiled sympathetically at the organ.

"Do not worry," I said. "Should the Phantom decide that his new masterpiece is an improvement to you, I promise that you will still be my favourite." I played the keys, and she sang in response.

Suddenly, the doors to the Phantom's chambers burst open and slammed against the walls. I jumped in surprise and accidentally slammed the organ's keys. I whispered a quick "Sorry" and turned to the Phantom. He was standing in the doorway, staring off into the middle-distance. I waited for him to explain himself, but he didn't.

"What is it, Master?" I asked finally.

"Listen, Child," he said. "Can you hear that?"

I listened, but could hear nothing but silence. "Hear what, sir?"

He was moving quickly toward the small landing hanging off the main area. "Listen _carefully_," he said forcefully. "If it is truly your wish to success me, then you must learn to stretch your senses beyond their natural capacity.

I tried to do as he said, imagining my senses stretching out through the tunnels. Then, all of a sudden, I heard it. A female voice. It was quite lovely. So fresh and innocent.

"The voice?" I asked him. He nodded.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"It's nice," I offered. He looked up at me, seeming to really notice me for the first time since he'd rushed out of his room.

"Needn't you be at your rehearsal?" he asked, going from excitement at his new discovery to seriousness. I shrugged off the question.

"Down here, where there is no sunlight, it is difficult to tell what the day is and where one should or should not be," I said smartly. I knew that I was walking a thin line, and what was easier to know was that I was not wanted.

"I am most certain that you should be elsewhere right now," he enforced. I rolled my eyes and stomped across the room down to the little boat. I climbed inside and pushed off the platform. I floated along toward the other side of the river, which would lead me to the mirror in the wall. It wasn't until I was nearly there when I noticed that the girl's voice had gotten distinctly louder. I continued to follow the voice until it lead me to the mirror. Through it, I saw a girl around thirteen, singing beautifully. She had long chestnut brown locks that fell in flawless ringlets over her shoulders. I couldn't help but mentally compare it to my short, straight, copper hair, which was, unfortunately, quite plain. I noticed then that I couldn't simply walk through a mirror in front of this girl. I would have to go around the long way. I ran around through the tunnels, only thinking about the girl. There was no doubt that soon the Phantom would find her and make her his new plaything. When he had her, he likely wouldn't need me any longer.

These thoughts caused my chest to ache with sorrow. Over the short years, the Phantom had touched my life. He had taught me so many things about music, and I enjoyed spending my time in the tunnels with him. Thinking about it now, I cannot remember ever being able to bear the thought of never seeing the Phantom again. I still can't.

All these ideas brought me straight to the small ladder which would lead me to ground level of L'Opera Populaire, on the opposite side of the building from the main stage. I sprinted through the building, making sharp turns. There was nobody in the halls, which encouraged me that they were still practising.

I finally reached the stage. No one was there. I searched through every area of the stage, hoping that all the dancers and singers would jump out and shout "Surprise!" or something along those lines. No one did. Finally, I spotted M. Reyer, the conductor. I ran over to him, my legs beginning to ache from all the walking and running.

"M. Reyer! M. Reyer!" I called. He looked up. "Where has everyone gone? Shouldn't they be at the rehearsal?"

M. Reyer looked confused. "The rehearsal ended half an hour ago," he explained. I stared.

"Half an hour?" I repeated. He nodded.

"Perhaps we should get you a watch," said M. Lefevre, who had entered without either of us noticing. He pulled something out from his jacket and tossed it to me. I caught it, after fumbling it twice, and examined it. It was a small pocket watch. I looked up at M. Lefevre. I had always heard rumours of his incommensurable kindness, but I had scarcely met him.

"You're certain?" I asked. He smiled and nodded.

"Absolutely." He waved a hand at me. "Now run along."

I ran off in the direction I'd come from. I hurried through the opera house until I reached a familiar door. I walked in without knocking. Rather than the room being empty, as I'd expected, there was a girl standing inside. She looked startled.

"Oh!" I said, as I recognized her. She was the girl I'd heard singing before. I realized that I wasn't supposed to have come this way in the first place. I kicked myself mentally for having not paid attention. "I'm sorry, I should have—"

"No!" she gasped. "No, I was just leaving anyway." She ran past me. I watched her run down the hall for a moment, then closed the door behind me, ran over to the mirror, and pushed it aside. I let out a small shriek when I almost walked directly into the person who had been standing behind it.

"Master!" I shouted in surprise. "What business do you have, standing behind this mirror?"

He looked disapprovingly at me. "You have no business knowing was business I have here."

I bit my lip and walked around him, headed for the room far below me. I ignored the fact that I knew the Phantom was behind me and continued along as if he weren't. When I reached the boat, I jumped in and pushed off without waiting for the Phantom. I knew that this would cause trouble, but for some reason, I didn't care. I floated to the platform and climbed out. Somehow, the Phantom was there already. He stared at me.

"You're upset," he said. I tried to look incredulous.

"What makes you think that?" I asked.

"You took the boat."

"I was…in a hurry."

"You don't like her," he said finally. "Why?"

I scoffed. "I don't not like her!"

"You feel threatened by her."

I pressed my lips together until they were nothing but a thin line. "I'm not discussing this with you," I said tightly. I walked by him into my room, where I flopped down on the bed. I knew that I was going to lose him. That thought burned itself into my mind, and I could think of nothing else. I felt tears burn behind my eyes and allowed them to flow.

"You stupid fool," I said to myself. "You had to go and fall in love."


	2. Act Two

**Wow, lots of time spent on that one… I'm surprised I'm not getting more done this summer. Probably because I'm more…distracted. That's my third set of …'s. Crazy. I'm really tired cause, compared to when I usually sleep, it's pretty late. So, please. Enjoy this chapter. Feel free to review. *(actually, it's preferred). Goodnight!**

* * *

><p><strong>Act Two<strong>

August came to an end, and the heat went with it. It went from being very hot to being quite cool in less than a day. As the days went by, I saw less and less of the Phantom. I woke up each morning, and he wasn't there. I ignored the fact that I knew he was seeing someone else and continued on with my duties as the Phantom's apprentice of sorts.

I rarely attended rehearsals any longer. I had begun to care less about one day becoming a world-renowned opera singer. I had more important things to dedicate my life to; for instance, becoming an opera ghost. My only flaw, as was pointed out by the Phantom himself, was that I wasn't frightening. I had a particularly pretty face, I was relatively light on my feet, "Like a flower petal fluttering through the breeze" were his exact words. But still, I had my duties to commit to. Instead, I examined the other aspiring ballerinas from afar. Frequently, this entailed standing backstage and watching through the curtains.

One day it dawned on me that I was better than that. So instead I climbed all the way up above the stage and sat in the rafters, watching the girls dance their naïve little lives away.

It wasn't long before all the actors and dancers walked off and I no longer held a purpose perching in the rafters. I stood and took a few cautious steps, and tripped. Luckily, I caught myself on the beam. I pulled myself up on my knees and realized that my foot was knotted up in a rope. I rolled into a seated position and began to untangle it. Suddenly, I lost my balance on the pillar where I was sitting and next thing I knew, I was falling to the ground below. I screamed, not knowing what else to do. I suspected that this was surely the end for me. I would hit the stage, break all of my bones, and become no more than a gory, unrecognizable mess. Those few moments it took me to fall seemed to last for hours. I watched as the stage got closer and closer to me, and I shut my eyes tight just before I made contact.

However, to my surprise, I made no contact. Instead, I suddenly felt myself being pulled back upward, and then released. I opened my eyes, and I was hanging upside-down, swaying left and right. I looked up to see the cause of this: the rope had never come untied from my foot. Instead, it had stayed attached and had reached the end of its length just before I'd hit the floor, thus catching me. I looked back down and saw that I was dangling just over three feet above the ground. I didn't have the upper-body strength to reach up to my foot to untie it, nor could I reach down to the floor and pull myself right-side-up. So I hung from the rafters upside-down for approximately thirty minutes until someone finally came along to help me down. And it was the last person I wanted help from.

The Phantom stepped in front of me, or rather, he _appeared _in front of me. He simply wasn't there one moment, and was the next. I narrowed my eyes at him, my head foggy and heavy with blood. I could just see the quirk on the side of his lips, telling me that he was fighting back laughter.

"Not a word," I said severely. "Just untie me."

The Phantom waved a hand and I fell to the floor. I smoothly tucked my body and rolled across the wood before I could crash head-first into the stage. When I'd recovered, I glared up at the Phantom a second time.

"I didn't mean 'drop me on my head,' " I spat. He shrugged.

"You didn't say that," he noted. "You merely told me to untie you. And that is exactly what I did, is it not?" I bit my lip, supressing the urge to shout multiple profanities in his face and stormed away from him. In moments, he was beside me again. "You really should be more careful."

I sighed. "I know. You're just so good at it, and I wanted to be as good as you." I stopped and turned on my heel so I was facing him directly. "You will teach me, then, won't you?"

He smiled. "If it keeps you from falling fifty feet to your demise, I will do anything," he agreed. I beamed at him and skipped deeper and deeper into the opera house.

It wasn't long at all before I had perfected the art of rafter-watching. It wasn't difficult once one learned how not to fall. Sometimes, the Phantom and I spent whole afternoons up in the rafters, doing absolutely nothing but listening to everything. I could now hear virtually everything that went on anywhere in L'Opera Populaire. Including the lovely voice of Miss Christine. I spent much of my time up on the rafters conspiring ways to dispose of her. Of course, I never had any intension of carrying them out.

It had been just one of those days when I received my very first assignment as the Phantom's apprentice. We had been sitting up there for hours, and I was devising one of my most elaborate and devious plans to give Miss Christine the boot. This one involved a certain chandelier having a sort of mishap during her solo. The Phantom pulled me out of my daydream.

"Child, you know Christine Daaé, don't you?"

I feigned pleasantness. "Of course, Master," I said.

"I am…concerned for her," he stated, not meeting my eyes. I raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Is she in danger?" I tried not to look hopeful.

"Not at the moment," the Phantom explained solemnly. "But I fear that soon she will be. I need you to keep a close eye on her."

"Master, why can't you?" I asked.

The Phantom let out a soft laugh, but sobered quickly. "I have work, Child," he said. He looked off over my head and into the middle-distance. "I hear a song in my head, playing, each moment of the day." He looked at me and smiled. "I simply must begin to write. If I had time to take care of this myself, I most certainly would, but there simply is no time."

I nodded knowingly. "Not enough hours in the day," I said on a sigh. "Your life must be so busy. I can't imagine how you handle it."

We sat back on our beams, lounging high above the dancing below us. That was the last peaceful moment I spent with the Phantom. One of the last moments in which we were truly alone together. Looking back, there is a small list of things I wish I'd done. Like told him how much I care about him, which I can assure you is very, very much. He was, and still remains the only person who has ever touched my life in a positive way.

We climbed back down to the stage level and parted ways. The Phantom to begin work on his piece, and me to go search out Miss Christine. I roamed the halls around _my_ dressing room, the one in which I used to practise, but I heard nothing. Not even the scurry of the mice that secretly made their homes between the walls. Finally, I decided I might find her in the dancers' rooms. I rushed up the stairs, following the voices of the rowdy dancers, many of them likely had been relaxing their muscles, drowning themselves in various alcoholic beverages. Another thing I didn't miss about moving down below the theatre.

I peered into the room through the cracks in the wall. I couldn't risk being seen. Many friends of my mother's spent their time here. If they saw me, no doubt they would carry me by the nape of my neck and drop me at her feet. I would never see the Phantom, or daylight (although I already did see very little of that), again.

When I saw no sign of Miss Christine, I hurried back down the stairs to the main level. My heart was beginning to pound in my chest. Stairs were most certainly _not_ my forte. I continued to race through the building, searching every room for her. I couldn't find her anywhere in the opera house. I began to wonder if she was here at all. Finally, I went to check the Chapel, the only place I had yet to look. Breathing hungrily, I walked through the narrow halls.

I turned the last corner, and I almost couldn't believe I'd finally managed to find her. She was kneeling on the floor, praying silently. I stood back, not daring to interrupt her. I shifted my weight to lean against the wall beside me, but the floor creaked beneath my feet. Christine jumped and spun around to face me. I could imagine that I looked crossed between shocked and extremely sorry.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," I said immediately. She gave me a weak smile, but there was so much sadness behind it.

"No need to apologize," she said. "I was finishing up."

"Forgive me for asking," I began, "but who do you pray for, down here and all by yourself."

She looked away from me and down at her feet. "My father passed away a year ago," she whispered. I made a cross on my chest.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "May he rest in peace."

"What business does a girl your age have down here? And at such an hour?"

I checked my pocket watch. It was already after eleven at night. I quickly considered a plausible response.

"I'm new," I said. "I just came to Opera Populaire. I was…exploring." That was a terrible lie. I knew every nook and cranny of this building. "Again, I'm sorry for interrupting you. I should probably be going."

She smiled. "I can walk you back to your room if you like."

I grinned innocently. "I would love that. Thank you."

We strolled back to the dancers' rooms, chatting nonchalantly. We reached the door to my old room and I smiled brilliantly at her.

"We should meet more often," I decided. "You truly are lovely company."

"You as well," she chuckled. "I would love to spend more time with you." She turned and walked down the hall. "I'll see you tomorrow at rehearsal!" she called over her shoulder. I nodded and made to open the door in front of me. However, as soon as she turned her head, I sprinted back down the way we'd come and slipped into the empty dressing room. I slid through the mirror and headed through the tunnels. I went over in my mind everything I'd learned about Christine in the previous few minutes. I'd done it. I'd done exactly what had been asked of me. I was so excited to tell Him of what I'd learned. I burst out of the tunnels and onto the platform.

"Master!" I exclaimed. "I've done it! I've…"

My voice trailed off as I looked around me. I was alone. I ran to my room and pushed the curtain aside. When I found it empty, I ran to the large oak doors of his room and threw them open, as well. I did not find him there, either. I sat heavily on the cool ground and allowed my bare feet to dangle just above the water.

I shouldn't have been so surprised that he wasn't there. Surely he'd heard everything from down here and knew that I had successfully completed my job, and as soon as I was through, had left to investigate just how well I had done.

Still, his absence made something in my heart ache and my throat feel too tight. I tried to swallow, but as I did, I could feel my eyes burning with tears. I let each one trickle down my cheek individually, treasuring them as their own, because each one represented part of my love for the Phantom.

Although I loathed Christine, I continued to study her for the Phantom. Each night I would crawl into my bed and cry those same, silent tears for my love, which would always remain unsatisfied. The only thing that kept my heart from splitting into two little pieces was the solitude of the tunnels, and knowing that it belonged solely to the Phantom and I. In fact, it wasn't for nearly four years that he let anyone besides me in.

I had been sprawled across the floor, listening to the music that played in my head from time to time. The Phantom had left to walk through the tunnels, and perhaps go and see the performance from that night. I jumped to my feet when I heard footsteps, followed by voices, echoing through the tunnels. I recognized my Master's voice in a moment. It took me only slightly longer to place the voice which accompanied him but when I did, I froze with shock. I felt my face begin to flush with anger, and my forehead became blisteringly hot.

Christine Daaé.

Without much time to spare, I leapt to my feet and hid myself behind a curtain which covered one of the many mirrors in the room. I heard them step onto the platform from the boat and all was silent. I had to hold my breath to avoid being heard. If I knew the Phantom, and I did, he could probably even hear the mere beating of my heart from so close.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the booming of the Phantom's voice

"I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's thrown," he bellowed. "To this kingdom, where all must pay homage to music."

He continued, but I couldn't hear him. Thoughts were swirling in my mind. All of them revolved around Christine, but one stood out above the others. I wanted to scream.

_How could you!_ I shouted at him in my mind, willing him to hear me. _How could you bring her here, into your world? _Our_ world? How could you let her in, when she doesn't even understand how much it means that you have? When she doesn't understand the true beauty of music?_

He obviously could not hear me, and I was almost glad he hadn't. I knew, no matter how much I loathed the thought, that romantically I meant very little, if nothing, to him. I was merely a useful tool around only to do my master's work.

I almost didn't notice when the Phantom's voice changed from loud and chilling to soft and sweet. The sound made me want to step out from behind the curtain and wrap myself in his arms. I risked a peek from behind the fabric, and could feel my heart shatter into little pieces. The Phantom had Christine wrapped in his arms in a tender and intimate embrace. I clutched the curtain in my hands and bit down hard on my lip, so hard that I could taste blood. He pulled her over to one of the curtains, and pulled it back. When he revealed what was hidden behind it, I gasped and fell to my knees.

On a mannequin that looked frighteningly like Miss Christine, albeit slightly paler, was the most beautiful white gown, completed with an elegant lacy veil. My stomach twisted and tears sprang to my eyes. I flung the curtain back around me, lest I be seen by either of them. I pulled my knees up to my chest and allowed the tears to flow freely. The pain that I felt in my chest was almost unbearable, as if something were trying to claw its way out. Soon, I was alone again, and, other than the sounds of my sobs, I was wrapped in complete silence.

It was a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes before there was another sound. Footsteps. Loud footsteps. It was obviously the Phantom. One would never expect his footsteps to be loud, and often they weren't. Only in this case, he wanted to be heard. He wanted me to know he was coming toward me. I tried to pull myself together slightly, but wasn't very successful. The curtain was throw away from me, and I was staring at the Phantom's glossy, black dress shoes.

"You're sitting on the floor," he remarked. I averted my eyes, staring instead to my left.

"Yes, I am," I concurred.

The Phantom crouched beside me and brushed his thumb through the mess of tears along my cheek. I allowed my eyes to quickly dart in his direction, long enough to read his facial features. He looked solemn, almost sad.

"What is the matter, Child?" he asked me. I closed my eyes tightly, wishing it would all just go away. Knowing I had to give an answer, I decided to voice the lesser of my problems.

"You let her into our world," I muttered. I let the anger I felt for everything come out. "How could you let her into _our_ world! She doesn't understand what it means! She doesn't believe like you or I—"

"_I _choose who comes into this domain," he seethed. Automatically, I opened my mouth in shock and dared to look him straight in the eyes. I wasn't shocked at his reaction. Instead, I was surprised by my own actions. I'd forgotten my place. I was nothing but his servant, and I had no right to speak out the way I had.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered. I could see the Phantom taking a moment to calm himself. When he did, he looked back at me.

"Now, what's really bothering you?" he asked, his voice controlled.

I glanced back at his shoes, reluctant about responding. Finally, I answered, "I don't trust her. Miss Christine." The Phantom seemed to be listening interestedly now. "She could easily be a spy, or some other untrustworthy character."

The Phantom watched me a moment longer, than whispered, "You're the one who was watching her, so you should know whether she is a spy or untrustworthy character." He leaned forward so he could look deeper into my eyes. "Is she?"

I caved under his stare. "No," I sighed. I straightened my back. "But I still don't like her."

"Because she threatens you?"

"No!"

"Then why?"

Before I could stop myself, I shouted out my really answer. "Because you love her!" I threw my hands over my mouth. Before I could do any more harm with my ill-considered words, I leapt to my feet and ran from him into the tunnels, darting this way and that, trying to cover my tracks. I had no interest in being found for at least the next few hours. Finally, once I decided I was deep enough, I slid down the cold, damp wall and sat on the ground, letting everything out.

I had been gone nearly on hour, and was just drifting off to sleep when I heard movement to my right. In seconds, I was back on my feet, poised to flee at a moment's notice. Footsteps, followed by a small voice, one I didn't recognize.

"Hello?" it called. Against my better judgement, I crept forward until there was only a wall between us. The footsteps move closer and closer to the corner, and I was prepared to strike at the intruder…

And then he turned the corner.

And I saw him.

He was probably the most beautiful boy I had ever seen in my life, but it wasn't his looks that distracted me. Only his eyes. They were a rich chocolate brown, deep and open, like a book. You could see everything in those eyes, and I was briefly lost in them. I shook myself back to my senses and took off soundlessly, but something made me stop. I couldn't just leave the poor boy here at the mercy of the Phantom. God knows what he'd do if he found him. I stalked through the tunnels until I was fifty feet behind the boy and just out of sight. When I was in perfect position, I opened my mouth and sang softly, trying to guide his attention to me.

Thankfully, he turned toward me. I took a few steps away and he walked toward me, as if in a trance. I smiled to myself as I sang. My master had taught me well. I continued guiding him through the tunnels until we reached the one that let out at the stage. It was after two in the morning, and I expected there would be no one there, but I could not risk being seen coming out of the trap door. I was contemplating ways to escape when I backed into the wall. I had narrowly missed the ladder that led up to the surface. My air left my lungs in a huff and my singing stopped. I mentally cursed myself as I heard the footsteps that had been so soft and dreamlike before come running toward me. I'd released him, and he was after me. I tried to escape, but there was no way out, and I'd run out of time. He'd rounded the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me.

"Who are you?" he asked after a long moment of silence.

I looked back and forth, still searching for an escape, but he was blocking my only way out. I pushed back against the wall hoping to disappear through it, but then the boy's eyes met with mine and I froze. A shiver ran through my back, but my face felt flushed. I slid down the wall and slumped on the floor. The boy walked toward me until he was standing right over me. I stared up at him, wide-eyed. He bent down so he was about three inches above my eye level.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. I opened my eyes wider and wider, going for a look of horror and bewilderedness. I shook from head to toe, thinking about how much trouble I'd get in if he found out anything. "Was that you singing back there?"

I nodded briskly. He touched my cheek gently, but I pulled away from his hand, consequentially slamming the back of my head against the wall. I cringed and curled up, pressing my hands to the back of my head.

"Hey, are you okay?" he said again. I shook my head. "Are you hurt? Should I go get you some ice, or…." I shook my head again. "Do you want me to take you back to your room?" He looked off, as if something had occurred to him. "What are you doing down here, anyway?"

I instantly lost my façade and jumped to my feet. "What about you? What are _you_ doing here?" The boy looked surprised at my sudden change of attitude.

"I-I'm the cousin of the Vicomte de Chagny," he said. I searched my memory, but I couldn't place the name. The boy must have noticed my blank look, because he added, "He's the new patron. The managers told me I could go explore wherever I wanted to. I found these neat tunnels and that's how I—"

"Wait," I interrupted. The boy stopped talking immediately. "_Managers?_"

The boy looked confused. "Yeah, M. Richard Firmin and M. Gil André."

"What happened to M. Lefevre?"

"He retired." The boy looked smug. "He says that it was for his health, but I believe it was because he couldn't put up with that diva, Carlotta anymore."

I turned on him in an instant. I knocked him over and pinned him to the ground with a loud thud. The boy stared up at me in shock. I looked back fiercely. "Lady Carlotta is the greatest singer in the world!" I told him. He stared back fearfully.

"Okay! Alright! I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. A clatter came from around the corner. I glanced up, but there was no other sound. I figured it was nothing more than a rock falling from the wall or ceiling. I sat up on his stomach. "You need to get out of here," I said distractedly.

"What?" he coughed, and I realized I was crushing him, even with my tiny body. His voice pulled me back into my earlier anger.

"Get out of here!" I repeated, jumping off of him. "Now! You'll be hurt if you don't!" The boy scrambled to his feet and I urged him up the ladder. "Forget everything you've seen down here. Especially me. Never come back."

He hesitated at the bottom of the ladder. "Will I ever see you again?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, yes, sure," I said impatiently, hoping it would get him to leave. Finally, the trapdoor shut behind him and I let out a breath. I trekked back through the tunnels. I pulled out my pocket watch — which I now considered mine, as M. Lefevre had left and not asked for it back — and checked the time. It was already five o'clock in the morning, and Miss Christine had arrived at nearly midnight. When I reached the underground lake, the boat was floating nonchalantly in the water, so I hopped in and pushed myself across. I glided smoothly through the calm waters. I lied down in the boat and felt myself drifting off as the boat rocked me gently to sleep.

When I woke the next morning, only a few hours later, the Phantom was sitting at the organ, playing softly. He didn't appear to notice me when I stood to step out of the boat and onto the platform. Just as I put my feet on the landing, the curtain over _my_ bedroom pulled back and Miss Christine stepped out from behind it. I froze completely. She wasn't looking in my direction, instead she looked around the room, taking it in and muttering to herself. She turned, her eyes passing over me. She did a double take and I jumped. In doing so, I overbalanced and fell into the lake with an almost silent sploosh. She didn't seem to have noticed when I came up again, only enough that I could see and breathe, but the Phantom turned from his music. He didn't see me, either, thankfully, but he did realize that, for the first time, Miss Christine was standing in the room. When their eyes met, she stepped toward him in a sort of daze. With her closer now, I could make out what they were saying.

"Who was that shape in the shadows?" she whispered, coming down the steps. "Whose is the face in the mask?"

She caressed his face gently, and I felt my stomach wrench. I couldn't stand to watch it much longer. I was just about to turn away when she reached for his masked face. She took the mask in her hand and removed it. I watched in utter astonishment. I'd never even considered touching his face, let alone remove the mask. The Phantom stood in shock and covered his face with his hand. Using the other hand, he knocked Christine to the ground in a burst of rage.

"Damn you!" he screamed. "You little prying Pandora! You little demon!" He pulled down a curtain and stared at his reflection with a burning ferocity. "Is this what you wanted to see?"

I wasn't listening to him anymore. I was watching Christine. She was on the floor, trembling. My eyes were stuck to the scene, like watching an actor flop onstage. No matter how terrible it is, you can't bring yourself to look away.

Eventually, the Phantom finished his furious tirade. He slowly fell to his knees, and from my spot in the water, I could only just see a tiny tear trickle down his cheek. It occurred to me then that I had never see the Phantom cry in the four years I'd spent there.

Christine outstretched a trembling hand and returned the Phantom's mask. He took it and put it back on his face. He stood, composing himself once more, his eyes darting uncomfortably around the room, avoiding Christine.

"Come, we must return," he muttered. "Those to _fools_ who run my theatre will be missing you."

So, I realized, he did know about the change in management. _Obviously, though, it wasn't worth informing me, _I added bitterly. I realized that they were coming toward me. I sucked in a breath and submerged myself into the water. I heard a loud swish, followed by a gallon of water being thrust in my face, which told me that they'd gotten in the boat and started off (the swishes being the paddle). After three more swishes, I decided it was safe to emerge from the water. I scrambled on to the platform, dripping wet.

It only took me a moment to decide what to do next. I had to go find the boy again.

I was going to make him mine.


	3. Act Three

**Haha! I finished chapter 3! Not gonna lie, it's pretty amazing, just saying ;) Anyway, Happy March break, if this is yours. I know I'm enjoying it with my head cold and lack of friends...such is the misery of a lonely author. Anyway, I really hope you like this, I know I loved writing it. I couldn't put it down for the past, like, four days. Read on, reader people! I promise I'll stay more on top of it now that I've got it rolling :)**

**Act Three**

Dispite my new loathing for the Phantom due to his unreasonable love for Christine, I still found myself doing his bidding. He continued to ask favors of me, sending me off to gather more information concerning her, following her, noting each breath she took, reading each thought from her mind and deciphering it, then returning all that I discover to him. He would nod as a spoke, but once I was through with my reports, he disregarded me, as if I were no longer worth his time. He would then either go to his music, which I used to inspire those short months ago, or travel through the secret tunnels to find things I had missed.

I did not see the boy again for some time. All the times I had been above the ground I had not seen him, and he had apparently heeded my warnings, for he had not returned to the tunnels. One day, though, I was instructed by my master to rise to the surface and deliver two letters to the managers, concerning what I did not know. Howeveer, it had been rather slow lately and I'd hoped to stay around for a short while, in hopes that perhaps I may get an answer. I fluttered along through the rafters and scuttled through the vents, as it was critical I was not seen. I did not have a reputation in the opera, nor did I really have a name. The Phantom wanted to keep it that way.

I finally found a man in a suit strutting through the halls toward the front foyer. He was tall with partially grey, neatly combed hair, and he was carrying a large stack of paper. I decided, from his managerial look and the description I'd been given, this was certainly Richard Firmin. I followed him through the hallway for a little until I was just ahead of him, then dropped the note. It fluttered gently down until I landed, as planned, right on top of his papers. He stopped in his tracks and stared, startled at the note, while I, still above him, gloated silently at my increasing skill.

"What's this?" said M Firmin, a hint of fear in his voice, as I tore off in the opposite direction in search of the second manager. I noted solemnly how much easier things like this had been when there had only been one manager. I also had to worry about the two meeting before I could deliver both letters.

Thankfully, though, I did find M André very soon after. His white, curly hair was easier by far to spot then M Firmin. He had been leaving his office when I spotted him. I gently dropped the note from where I sat just above the door. The note fluttered down to his feet. He followed it with his eyes until it hit the ground, then he cautiously picked it up as though it were something foul. He read his name off the front, then unceremoniously tore it open. I leaned forward, eager to see the letter's contents. It was all I could do not to forget myself and shriek with delight when he tore it open. Unfortunately, though, he merely skimmed it, far too quickly for me to really read anything, and then sped off down the hall. Startled, I jumped to my feet and hopped along the hall after him, stumbling here and there just trying to keep up.

We ended up in the foyer, where M Firmin still stood, flipping excitedly through a paper. As M André approached, he began shouting angrily.

"Damnable! Will they all walk out?" he exclaimed. "This is damnable!"

Firmin frantically put a hand to his lips and shushed the other man. "André, please don't shout," he insisted. "It's publicity, and the take is vast! _Free publicity!_"

"But we have no cast!" André reminded him.

"But André, have you seen the queue?" Firmin noticed the note, still held firmly in André's hand. "Oh, it seems you've got one, too."

André unfolded the note and held it stiffly in front of his nose, reading it off. I sat excitedly on my perch, listening intently. The Phantom would never let me read his work since he discovered Christine. I would be terribly punished if he knew what I was up to. Still, I listened guiltlessly.

"_Dear André, what a splendid gala,_" M André read. "_Christine was, in a word, sublime. We were hardly bereft when Carlotta left — on that note: the diva's a disaster. Must you cast her when she's seasons past her prime?_"

I held back a laugh. I'd always known that the Phantom did not approve of Carlotta, but never before had she been any sort of threat. Of course, now that Christine was his favorite, nothing mattered to him but getting her out of the spotlight. I jumped from my thoughts to continue listening as Firmin held up his note.

"_Dear Firmin, just a brief reminder: my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the ghost by return of post._

"_PTO: No one likes a debtor so it's better if my orders are obeyed!_"

Satisfied with the information I had received, I leapt from my spot and hurried off down the hall. I was mere meters away from the auditorium when I was grabbed by the collar. I reflexively went completely lax and allowed myself to fall backward and surrender completely to my captor. I turned and looked up at the face of the person, and I saw the terrifying pale face of Mme Giry. I had never met her, or really run into her. But I had heard much about her from the Phantom.

"Are you a dancer?" she asked me, and I had a feeling that the only possible "no" would give away my secret post to the Phantom, so I nodded. She gave me an icy stare. "Then why aren't you practicing?" she demanded. She dropped me to the ground and I tore off to the studio where the dancers were lined up, practicing and looking very disciplined. I stepped into full view, feeling very lost. I had not stepped foot in this place for years. One of the girls looked up; a blonde girl with curly hair and a round face punctuated with innocent blue eyes. She stared at me like she couldn't believe I was standing before her. She scurried over to me with the unfailing grace of a dancer.

"What are you doing?" she whispered shrilly. I looked around frantically, unsure of what to say. The girl rolled her eyes and grabbed my arm. "Come on, we'll need to get you changed. I don't know what you were thinking, running around during rehearsal."

She led me to a back room where there were extra shoes and tights, as well as some props from old performances, and mirrors and bars along the walls. She released me and watched, as if I was going to leap into action. Unfortunately, I had no idea what it was that she wanted me to do, so I was forced to stare at her in hopes she would give me a clue. She eyed me carefully, trying to decipher my intentions.

"You're not really a dancer, are you?" she asked. I hesitated, thrn shook my head, no. "But you told my mother that you were?" I nodded. She leaned even closer to me, her eyes scrutinizing me. "Then who are you?" She circled around me menacingly, as though she were sizing me up. "You look so familiar. I'm sure I've seen you here before..." Finally, as though the last piece of a puzzle had found its place in her mind, her eyes widened and she held out an accusing finger.

"I _do_ know you!" she exclaimed. My eyes widened in fear. "You're the girl that could never dance, no matter how hard you practiced!" My heart burned with anger at the insult, but the girl continued talking. "You disappeared, though! Years ago! Everyone thought you'd died, and gave up looking for you."

I finally found my voice then, and I hissed menacingly, fueled by her rudeness, "I'm certain you're mistaking me for someone else."

The girl crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows skeptically. "You think so?" she said. Then she nodded at my legs. "Dance, then we'll see."

I hesitated. Although the description she had given me was cruel and hurtful, it was not inaccurate. Finally, I sighed. The girl smiled triumphantly. I continued to glower at her, however.

"I knew there was something familiar about you from the moment I saw you," the girl told me. She gracefully lowered herself to the ground, sitting on her knees. I followed her lead, falling clumsily into a sitting position, my legs crossed under me. "But if you're still here, where did you go? Why didn't you come back?"

The concern in the girl's eyes led me to believe that there were two factors affecting my answer. On one hand, I obviously could not tell her the truth and give away my identity as the Phantom's apprentice. On the other, her eyes insisted that I tell nothing but the truth. I was trapped in all senses of the word. I was unable to leave this tiny room without giving a reasonable answer. The girl watched me expectantly, waiting almost anxiously for my answer.

I must tell you that now, looking back on this day of my youth, I feel the deepest regret towards my answer. I feel that, had I lied and given her an excuse of my imagination's invention, some events may not have played out the way that they did. However, I did indeed tell this girl, who I later discovered to be Meg Giry, a vague virsion of the truth. She showed such loving, almost maternal concern for me that I couldn't stand to completely lie. I told her that I lived beneath the building in the tunnels carved out below, working for the Phantom. She shuddered as I spoke his name, but I had a suspicion that is was something beyond fear of the name, something almost envious.

When I finished my explination, she sat complete silent and still, lost in awe and admiration. I looked severely at her.

"You must swear never to tell anyone of what you know," I commanded. "And you are never to speak of me again."

Meg was at least a year or two older than I was, but something in the severity of what I'd told her gave me the confidence to demand her oath. She nodded promptly.

"I do, I swear," she said. I nodded, still remaining severe, but looked around me, examining the room for a hidden exit. There were at least a hundred throughout the opera, and I felt certain there was one here, too.

"I suggest you return to the other dancers," I insisted, turning my attention back to her, but she remained unmoving, and her eyes softened.

"Won't you stay?" she pleaded. "You can dance with us. Please?"

I almost laughed. "You said yourself, I am no dancer," I reminded her. I returned to my searching. "I really must return, anyway. I'm sure you will do beautifully."

Meg gave me one last parting glance, her eyes filled with tears, before exiting the room. Once the door closed once again behind her, I searched around the room. It wasn't long before I found a hole hidden in the far corner of the room. To many, it could easily be mistaken as a meaningless blemish in the beautiful building's perfection, but I recognized it as an escape. I crawled through and I heard the door open again as I tore off down the passage.

The passages were easily confusing by design. It reduced the chances of anyone reaching the heart of the labyrinth where the Phantom resided. I, however, had dedicated the last few years to deciphering the puzzle and had since become relatively successful. I reached the lake within a few minutes of squeezing through the hole in the wall. When I got across the lake, the Phantom was sitting at the keys of the organ, writing fervently. He was composing again. He refused to tell me what he was working on, no matter how much I begged him to. I walked onto the platform, and he didn't even grace me with his acknowledgment, only continued to work on his music.

"Are you going to the performance tonight?" I asked in an attempt to break the growing silence between us. The Phantom did not look up still, but he did answer at last.

"Of course," he said. "Christine is to play the lead role."

"Oh, yes, if Christine is playing the lead rold..." I muttered under my breath. I sat on the floor a little ways from him. "Do you really believe that Christine will go through with this?" I asked him. He shot me a brief look of disgust before returning to his music.

"Of course she will," he hissed. "Wouldn't you?"

I felt offended by this comparison loyalty, and I instantly became defensive. "Of course _I _would, but I am far more dedicated to you."

The Phantom smiled humorlessly. "What would make you think that?" he asked.

"I've lived here with you for three years, and not once have I left your side, nor have I ever swayed from my loyalty to you!"

The Phantom laughed coldly, and I jumped to my feet. I could sense danger suddenly and I realized I'd gone too far.

"Never?" he said, standing also. I swallowed hard, unable to disguise my fear. This only amused him further. "You mean to tell me that you have never argued my decisions concerning who to allow into my own home, nor have you ever spited me out of pure, childish jealousy?"

Tears welled in my eyes. All he said was true, and I was outraged that he could so casually take my few small betrayals of trust and try to outweigh my loyalty with them. He stalked toward me and I cowered slightly but refused to move from my spot on the floor. I stared into his eyes, dark and filled with hate, but beneath that the hurt that was always there. It was the hurt that softened my rage. Unfortunately for me, though, he did not see himself as I did - a beautiful man in both body and mind. If he had, things may have not turned out the way they did.

The Phantom grabbed my wrist tightly, and I flinched at the pain. He pulled me close so that his face was mere inches from mine. I gritted my teeth to keep from shouting in pain. Those hate-filled eyes bore into me and it was almost more painful than the pressure on my wrist.

"Over three years, I have done nothing but good for you," he hissed. "You are ungrateful!"

He dragged my by my arm across the platform and threw back a blood red curtain. Behind it was a small room, barely large enough to be a closet. He threw me inside, and pushed me against the wall.

"You will stay here until you can respect the things I give you!" he exclaimed, and he threw the curtain back over the opening. There was a flash, and I hurled my body against the curtain, but it felt stiff, and did as much good as pushing a solid wall. Still, I tried again, throwing myself against it until my whole body ached and I fell to the ground, having lost all the energy fueled by my hurt and anger. I curled up on the cold, dirty ground and cried, my sobs sending jolts of pain through my damaged appendages.

There was no sound coming from beyond the curtain, and I wasn't sure if that was because the Phantom had left or because the enchantment put upon the fabric to make it solid also blocked all sound waves from passing through. If proved to be the former when suddenly loud footsteps, far too clumsy to belong to the Phantom, echoed through my tiny prison. I stood eagerly and pressed my ear against the curtain.

"Hello?" a voice called. It was a boy's voice, and the instant I placed it, a heat spread through my veins. I wasn't sure if it was relief or panic. The footsteps got nearer.

"Boy!" I shouted. "Boy, I'm over here!" As long as he was there I felt it was worth putting him to use. His heavy footsteps sped over to my prison, and he slapped a hand against the deceitful curtain. I heard him let out a soft cry and I groaned. I was being rescued by a child.

"How did you get in there?" he asked when he'd recovered slightly.

"He locked me in!" I exclaimed.

"Who?"

"The Opera Ghost! Is you head full of stones?"

"No!" the boy shouted defensively. "How do I get you out of here?"

"I don't know!" I exclaimed back. However, it occurred to me that it may be couter productive to be yelling at my rescuer, so I sighed, leaned back against the curtain, and slid down to the floor. "Try hitting you hand against it."

"That didn't seem to help last time," he reminded me. I shrugged.

"It made me feel better," I said.

"You're not very nice, did you know that?"

"Why did you come back here?" I asked, ignoring his comment. "I told you never to come back, if you knew what was good for you."

"I...I don't know," the boy said nervously. I felt the wall shudder as he leaned against it. "I guess I just…couldn't get you out of my mind. You were my every waking thought, and in every one of my dreams at night."

"I know the feeling," I sighed. I leaned my head back against the curtain. "What is your name?"

"Pardon me?"

"Your name," I repeated. "I'd like to know your name before the Phantom comes back and kills you."

I sensed the boy stiffen with fear, and I heard him whisper "_Phantom?" _I pretended not to notice, though, and said, "Why don't you look for something harder than your thick head to use against this curtain?"

The boy got up, leaving me alone. I waited uncomfortably in the silence. Suddenly, there was a loud crash, and my heart jumped painfully in my chest. I shushed him frantically, and he ran back.

"I didn't find anything," he whispered, taking my insistance to heart.

"Clearly." I sighed solemnly. "I'm going to die in here."

I leaned against the curtain, but rather than having it hold me up, I felt myself falling forward, through the once solid curtain and slowly toppling toward the floor. I let out a shriek and just before I hit the floor, the boy caught me.

"Are you okay?" he said, lifting me back to my feet. "What happened?"

"I - I don't know!" I stammered, clinging tightly to him. "It's as if the spell lifted!"

I peered up at his eyes. They were deep and brown, and although I had nearly forgotten him, I felt myself drawn back to those eyes. His ginger-blond hair fell messily across his forehead. I scrutinized him, trying to decide what he was really doing there. He looked back at me with a soft expression. His eyes were expressive and showed nothing but love.

"Adrian," he said softly. I looked at him, puzzled.

"Excuse me?"

"That's my name," he explained. "Adrian."

"Oh," I said. I opened my mouth to add my own name, when suddenly a voice echoed around us and my blood ran cold in my veins.

"_Did I not instruct that box five was to be kept empty?_" the Phantom exclaimed. I knew he was not near, but for some reason a burst of adrenaline washed over me, begging me to move, to run, to do something.

"We have to go!" I whispered urgently. Adrian didn't question me. He let me grab a tight hold of his hand and drag him out of the room. As we ran through the labyrinth of tunnels, I mentally examined the layout, deciding the fastest way to the stage. We ducked around corners and sprinted through halls. I could tell that Adrian wasn't used to running so far, but somehow my fear pushed him on, or perhaps it was my dragging him.

We burst from the mirror through which I had first met the Phantom and dashed through door, down the hallways all the way to the large doors that led to the lower seats of the theater. I clutched Adrian's hand tighter as we pulled open the door and stepped inside.

We were off on the left side of the theater, so thankfully we didn't draw much attention. The stage was surronded by the images of a green field. Dancers scuttled around the stage, looking slightly frazzled. I watched for a minute, recalling the scene's order.

"This can't be right," I said. Adrian, who had been watching as puzzled as me, turned his head my way. "This is the ballet from act three! They can't be here already..." I looked around me. Many of the audience members appeared to be enjoying the show's steady derailment, but Adrian noticed a clue which I had not.

"Look," he said. "It's my cousin! The Vicomte! He came to see Christine to night. Christine Daaé? He fancies her, I think."

The Vicomte watched the stage from the very edge of his seat. His eyes were filled with fear and panic, and from that, I knew that this was the Phantom's doing. Something bad was going to happen.

I looked all around, searching desperately for some sort of sign, a movement of some sort. Then, I noticed it. Just above the stage, in the rafters where we used to sit, the suspended boards, designed for changing scenes and such, swayed slightly as someone passed over them. I grabbed Adrian's hand again and pulled him forward, not noticing, let alone caring about the looks we received from some of the people watching. As we got closer, I was able to see a man walking across the boards. Behind him, there was a flutter of black fabric, like a cape. My eyes widened and my heart sped up. My pace quickened, and I sensed what was happening mere seconds before the rope came down over the mans head, wrapping tightly around his neck. I ran forward, but I knew I was alredy too late. My eyes widened and I turned and buried my face in Adrian's chest before I heard the snap of a rope hitting it's full length, followed by dozens of screams. Adrian gasped sharply, and wrapped his arms around me, and I hid my eyes, sure that if I didn't see it, it hadn't happened. The rope snapped and there was a soft thud as the man's body hit the floor. Tears sprang to my eyes and Adrian put his had on my head, stroking my hair gently. I dared to look up then. The scarlet curtains had closed over the stage and M Firmin stood on the stage, his normally combed hair mussed, a gleam of sweat across his forehead.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in you seats!" he said, shouting over the noise. "Do not panic! It was an accident...simply an accident!"

Adrian turned to face me. "What happened?" he asked me. I stared at him, unable to contain my fear.

"The Phantom," I gasped. "He's here. And clearly, he's very unhappy." I turned away from Adrian, searching for the Phantom. "I don't know what he's up to, but if we're involved, expect to be like that man." I gestured to the curtain behind which the murdered man lie. Adrian gripped my hand and swallowed hard. He looked around.

"Raoul!" he exclaimed suddenly, staring up at the Phantom's box. "He's gone! What if the Phantom's gotten him?"

Adrian seemed suddenly frantic. I turned to him, my eyes severe. "Better him than us," I said firmly. Adrian paled, but he nodded. Some people were standing up, clogging the doorways, desperate to get out, while others remained in their seats, obeying orders. Still, there was no way for us to escape.

"What are we going to do?" he asked me. I ran my hands through my long brown hair.

"I don't know yet," I groaned. "Any suggestions?"

"We should probably get out of here," he said.

"Have you seen the crowd around the doors?" I exclaimed. "There's no way out!"

"There has to be a way out!" Adrian insisted, looking around. "Isn't there a secret door around here or something?

"I don't know, maybe," I said, bringing the mental map forward again. "I'll go look around. There's probably one over on the stage."

I ran up on the platform, slipping behind the curtain, and Adrian tailed me. I spun around. "Don't!" I exclaimed. "If he's anywhere, he's probably down there, and if he finds me I'm as good as dead. Just..." I pointed to the center of the stage. "Go over there. I'll look myself."

Adrian looked at me desperately, but I narrowed my eyes and willed him to obey me. Finally, he gave me one last look of fear and turned, walking over to where I'd sent him. As soon as I was sure he was going to stay put, I ran off, checking every spot there might be an exit. Unfortunately, most of the regular doors only opened from inside the tunnels. There were two or three in the theater that I knew of, and I could hardly find them. That was both good news and bad news. Good news because it meant that there was little chance of anyone finding it accidentally. Bad news because it meant we would probably be killed.

I finally spotted one I had a chance of getting into, but when I tried to pull it open, it wouldn't budge, as though it were locked. I pulled again in vain, and gave up. "Adrian, I think he locked them all!" I called, but I doubted he heard me. There was a loud groan of metal bending, and a tinkling of glass. I turned to Adrian. he was staring wide-eyed at the magnificent chandelier hanging from the ceiling, which I could just see through a crack in the curtain. It was swaying menacingly on the chain which held it in the ceiling. I shouted at him to move, but he was frozen in fear. The metal chain groaned again, and finally snapped. Acting on pure instinct, I ran forward and leapt at him, pushing us both over the edge of the stage and into the aisle. We scrambled over as the chandelier crashed mere inches from us. We were showered in shards of glass as the flames from the candles set fire to the music in the orchestra pit, the fabric of the chairs, everything. I grabbed hold of Adrian and pulled him out of the theater. Once we were out, he seemed to get a hold of himself. He grabbed my hand in his, brushing some of the glass from my hair.

"Are you alright?" he gasped frantically, dusting me off. I pushed his hands away and he stared at me. "We almost died, didn't we?"

I nodded solemnly. "Almost killed by the man I loved," I moaned. My chest ached with pain, but I suspected it had nothing to do with any sort of physical wound. My faith and love had just been torn away from me, and it appeared to have lelft nothing but a gaping hole in me. I fell against Adrian and let my tears fall shamelessly. Although caught off guard, he wrapped his arms tightly around me, rocking me and whispering consolations in my ear.

For the first time, it was blatantly clear to me: I couldn't belong to the Phantom anymore. Not after this.


End file.
